"'This is a good place' or something creepy like that."

"I didn't hear anything."

There are people gathering on the shore. It's a mix of men and women, though the men are as long-haired and smooth-faced as the women. All seem to be fairly young adults. Most are dressed in a green and brown fabric of some kind.

They're also carrying longbows, some of which have been drawn and pointed at the ship.

"Uh. We've got company."

Nebula grabs a gun.

"Want me to shoot them? I'm pretty sure this beats whatever they're carrying."

"They're called longbows...this must be some sort of primitive tribe. Don't shoot. I'm going to go talk to them."

"Are we sure it's a good idea to have you as our ambassador?"

He ignores her and presses the button to lower the stairs of the Benatar. He opens the door and steps out onto them.

"Uh, we come in peace," he says to the assembled crowd.

A few lower their bows. Some who didn't have bows drawn draw them.

They shout at him in a language he doesn't recognize.

He goes back into the ship to grab his helmet, which is pretty useless as armor at this point but still contains most of FRIDAY's circuits.

"FRIDAY, translate," he tells her.

Language not recognized.

Damn it, he can understand Nebula who's from another galaxy just fine and now he's about to get shot by some primitive tribe from Earth because of language issues—

YOU ARE FROM A COMIC-BOOK WORLD WHERE ALIENS FROM THE ANDROMEDA GALAXY LOOK LIKE HUMANS WITH BLUE MAKEUP AND SPEAK ENGLISH. YOU ARE NOW IN A COMPETENTLY WRITTEN UNIVERSE THAT CARES A LOT ABOUT LANGUAGES.

What the fuck?

Okay, he's clearly hallucinating. He'll have time enough to get that checked out when he's not in danger of getting shot by primitives with longbows.

"Try harder," he tells FRIDAY.

Running extended search.

Possible match: Sindarin.

"What the hell is Sindarin?"

One of the constructed languages of J.R.R. Tolkien. Sometimes known erroneously, or at least incompletely, as 'Elvish'. There are in fact several Elvish languages created by Tolkien, the others being -

"Okay, well, that obviously can't be right. Your data file does note that that language is fictional, no—?"

Match confirmed with 99% certainty. Proceeding from the assumption that Tolkien's works are historical, as he in fact claims in the introduction to The Lord of the Rings, I conclude that we have landed just offshore of Tol Eressëa, easternmost of the Undying Lands, and the people on the shore there are Elves.

Well, he flies around in a metal suit and beats up bad guys. One of his co-workers is a Norse god. A giant purple dude just killed half of literally everyone with six magic rocks. This probably isn't actually the strangest thing that's ever happened to him. Warping into the world's most popular fantasy novel has to be up there, though.

"Whatever," he tells FRIDAY. "Just tell them whatever will get them to stop pointing bows at us."

She announces something loudly in Sindarin.

An Elf runs onto the beach and shouts something at the others, who lower their bows.

Tony walks down the stairs and wades through the water toward the shore.

It's bath-warm and only a few feet deep.

"Welcome to Tol Eressëa, Mr. Stark," says the elf in vaguely Australian-accented English when Tony reaches shore. "My name is Legolas, son of Thranduil. As of a few hours ago, I am king of the Wood-Elves that you see before you. I believe you may have heard of me."